


don't miss the train

by cloudcloakedwords



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Express, Hogwarts First Year, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 11:42:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20506397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudcloakedwords/pseuds/cloudcloakedwords
Summary: A short fic about what might have happened to four boys that fateful day at King's Cross Station.





	don't miss the train

His grin wobbled a little bit as he tightened his grip on the trolley handle. People were beginning to stare, and James felt the gaze of a nearby conductor start to bore into the back of his Muggle coat. He fidgeted, shiny shoes scuffing against each other.

“James, you’re going to ruin your shoes,” sighed his mum. The squeaking of leather on the dull tile of King’s Cross Station ceased. It had barely been audible anyway, the sound eclipsed by the pattering footsteps and swishing coats around the family of three. 

Euphemia Potter rested her hand over his and gave it a comforting squeeze. James gave his mum an uncertain smile, and she pushed his glasses up his nose. The edges of her hazel eyes crinkled as she beamed back at him, and not for the first time today, he felt a pool of doubt well up in him. 

“Straight ahead, into the wall. We’ll be right behind you,” said his father. As James’ eyes flickered over the tall, greying figure of Fleamont Potter, he was once again reminded of how old and frail his parents seemed. _What if something happens to them while I’m gone?_

As if she could read his mind, his mother said, “Don’t worry. Just go, dear.”

She smiled bracingly, and the fears slithered out of his mind. His parents were the toughest people he knew—potionists-turned-Aurors who had managed to raise him, “the most rambunctious, hotheaded boy who ever walked the earth”, according to themselves. James nodded, a flash of his trademark grin on his face. His father mussed his hair, and scowling, James hurriedly reached up to flatten the mop of ebony. Squaring his shoulders, he sent both the trolley and himself charging towards the wall between Platforms Nine and Ten.

_(Euphemia and Fleamont Potter followed, hand in hand, vanishing into the entrance of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters to find their only son, bouncing on the balls of his feet, on the other side.)_

A stern nod in which sharp grey eyes and stiff red lips did not move. A rigid handshake, where his father’s signet ring dug into his skin. A whispered goodbye, from a shorter, paler version of himself who had promised to write letters weekly and an agreement to owl if they tried anything.

Those were the only good byes Sirius Orion Black received before he turned towards the wall and all but threw himself at it. There was no wish for more from either end, and quite frankly, Sirius would have been fine with none at all.

He emerged on the other side, a broad grin dancing on his face, grey eyes darting nimbly from family to family to the gleaming Hogwarts Express wreathed in smoke. Hastily, he headed towards the train, pushing his trolley as fast as he could. Laden with monogrammed suitcases and a massive, ebony trunk, the little mountain atop the trolley towered above the ones of his soon-to-be schoolmates and probably outweighed Sirius. At eleven, he had already inherited the lanky build of his family, and he was still mildly impressed that he had not ended up with an extra eye or a missing toe. Sirius had spent too many hours running his fingers over the family tapestry, and even from a young age, he was quite sure that there shouldn’t be _that_ many instances of intermarriage between the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

_(Orion and Walburga Black, second cousins, disappeared into flurries of black shadows, Disapparating back to the somber doorstep of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.)_

Walking through the brick wall had been the easy part. Now, the real challenge that Remus Lupin faced was finding a way to slip through the cracks of the barricade of children and their parents. He couldn’t help but wish that Professor Dumbledore were by his side; the bespectacled professor had a natural aura that seemed to dissipate tension and calm nervous energy. 

Casting a nervous glance at the teenagers practically vibrating in their eagerness to get away from fussing parents and join their friends in the compartments, Remus figured that a dose of Professor Dumbledore would definitely come in handy on September 1st. 

“Remus dear,” whispered his mum, and he spied his dad hovering nearby, clearly waiting his turn, “If you don’t like it there, not even a little bit, just owl us, and we’ll get you home.” 

Hope Lupin smiled wanly. Remus did not miss the lines around her eyes or the grey streaks in his mother’s chestnut hair. Parenthood had not treated Lyall or Hope particularly kindly, and Remus felt a deep pang of guilt at the feeling stirring inside him.

Ever since Professor Dumbledore’s first visit, what had once been a dormant wisp inside him had metamorphosed into a horde of raring spirits—ones that shouted at him to get away from his parents and the basement and the never-ending bills for experimental medication.  
What kind of son was he to feel the urge to leave behind the only people who would ever know his secret and love him regardless? Forget son, what kind of person was he? A werewolf, his subconscious supplied sarcastically, with just a touch of bitterness. He swallowed the caustic words, and reached out to give his mum a hug. 

Another pair of arms wrapped around them, and his dad murmured, “We’re so proud of you.”

Those words quenched the voices inside a little longer—long enough for him to dab his eyes as he boarded the Hogwarts Express. 

_(Hope and Lyall Lupin watched as their only son boarded the shiny red train; the pale figure, slouched, wrapped in drab grey and brown stood in stark contrast against the bold colors and raucous voices of his surroundings.)_

Doors and doors and doors. Sliding doors with glass windows that he knew would only show him one thing: compartments of chatting kids with contempt in their eyes. They would smile pityingly when they said, “Sorry, this seat’s taken.”

Peter Pettigrew swallowed, and ran his hand through his hair. His mum always told him that if he kept doing that, he’d go bald before thirty, but he’d seen a kid in glasses doing that to his already-mussed hair, and if he had already been swarmed by friends, what harm could it do to Peter?  
He walked past a car full of giggling fifth-years, and he hurriedly ducked past a couple blatantly making out in the passageway. Would that be him one day? He shook his head and moved on.  
There were only so many compartments in the Hogwarts Express; unfortunately, a train headed to the best wizarding school in the world did not come with an enchanted number of cars. Peter could see the end, and the countdown in his head was beginning to pound in sync with his heartbeat. 

Second-last one. Now or never. 

Closed eyes, raised fist, deep breath. 

“You look constipated. Get in here before the Slytherins find you,” came a plaintive voice. 

Peter’s eyes flew open, mouth gaping in shock. The second-last compartment had three inhabitants: the boy who messed up his hair, one with peculiar lines across his nose, and a grey-eyed one. That was the one who had spoken and was now looking down at him, curiosity sparking in those eyes. 

He ducked his head, and scrambled in. 

The door banged shut behind him. 

_(Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew would later on receive a rambling letter that detailed the numerous chocolate frogs and mince pies Peter had been treated to on the train. That was the first of many letters they would receive from him throughout the next seven years.)_


End file.
